"Mr. Gower - don't you know me?"

Tuesday night the Wife and I went to The Peabody (The South's Grand Hotel) for drinks and the exchange of Christmas presents with Kathy, Sonya's boss. The Peabody is a gorgeous early twentieth-century building, with lots of deco accessories and a carved ceiling in the lobby. It's a fine place to have a drink and see the hoity-toity society folk do their thing. Hell, the society writer for the Commercial Appeal was there. It's the place to be.

I haven't been to the Peabody lobby for drinks in a few years, so it was nice. We ran a tab and had lots of mixed drinks (vodka collins with Absolut Citron - fine!). We gave Kathy wine and nail polish and a Magic Eight-Ball and she gave Sonya a hat and me some tickets to the Liberty Bowl. We worked up a nice little buzz. Then we came home - Sonya made baked beans for her office party and I dozed while we watched the WB.

Wednesday night? The last-minute Christmas shopping. Wal-Mart was frightening, CompUSA still doesn't have any iBooks in stock, people were buying computers by the truckload at Best Buy and the crowds weren't so bad at Hickory Ridge Mall, where I swapped out some silver vinyl pants I'd gotten for Sonya. They were too big, so the hipsters at Gadzooks reluctantly took them back and gave me a smaller pair. Merry Christmas.

Sonya and I opened our presents to each other, too. Why? 'Cause we're grown, and we can open our presents whenever we want.

I also got a call Wednesday from my sister Dawne, telling me my brother, Jack, had made it in to town. I've given Jack's history elsewhere, and even though he can be lovable he's still a trial to deal with. As I've said before, back-up is essential when dealing with Jack; his full attention is nearly overpowering.

So I went by Dawne's house yesterday morning and chased Laura and Joseph (my neice and nephew, respectively) out of bed.

"Come with me," I told them, "we'll go see your uncle!"

We piled in the car and went to my mom's house, where we ate and visited with the family. Laura and Joe ran out on my early, but they helped. Then Jack drove me back to their house to get my truck. However, we did sit in the driveway while he rolled several joints. I shake my head at this. A hit off the ganja every once in a while is fine. But having to smoke it several times a day? I don't get it.

I got in to it with my mom, too. It's stupid, really, and yet I must recount it. You see, for the last few years my mom has asked me to read the Christmas story from the Bible before we open presents - you know, the whole "shepherds were watching their flocks by night" thing. I've done it, but I'm intensely uncomfortable with it (as with all public speaking, even in front of my family) and the family fidgets and giggles while I read. We are not, for the most part, a terribly religious family, and a family Bible-reading is about as natural for my family as a penguin in the desert.

[Have you heard the one about the penguin in the desert? This penguin was driving across the desert and his car broke down in a small town. He took his car to a mechanic and went to get an ice cream cone while they looked at his car. He was standing outside, eating his ice cream cone. Being a penguin, all he had was little flippers and when his ice cream started to melt he made a mess, getting the melted ice cream all over himself. Then he went back in to the mechanic's office to find out about his car.

"It looks like you've blown a seal," the mechanic said.

"Oh no," the penguin said, blushing, "it's just ice cream."]

Anyway, I told my mom I wasn't going to be reading any Bible-verses this year. I dreaded it every year and I was retiring.

"Are you uncomfortable with Jesus?" my mom asked. I very nearly giggled right there; it sounds like one of those you're-going-to-hell movies they used to show us back in my Christian school days. I assured my mother it had nothing to do with the reading material; it was the act itself I disliked and I had no intention of doing something I disliked so badly on Christmas Eve. She wasn't terribly happy with that, but by the time my family's Christmas Eve celebration had begun Joseph, the aforementioned nephew, had been drafted to read the Bible and say the blessing, as well!

Bible-readings, blessings...I don't mean to come across as if my mom is a religious fanatic or anything. She's not. She just gets a bit Jesus-happy around Christmas, which is appropriate, really. It is a bit uncomfortable for the family, though. But we muddle through. We love the mother.

Otherwise, today's gathering was nice. We ate far too much and me and Sonya got some cookware and one of those George Foreman grills. Dawne and I made a fire (in the fireplace) and filled the living room with smoke. My brother disappeared to listen to the new Marilyn Manson tape I gave him. The Wife and I visited with the family for a while, watched a bit of the Saints game and then went home.

Saints win! Saints win! Jake Delhomme played in Amsterdam with Kurt Warner. Amsterdam may actually get an NFL franchise. Michael Irvin would put in for a transfer, I bet. The Saints outplayed the Pompous Texas Felons. Someone give that kid a big fat contract.

And did you see Delhomme on ESPN after the game? He's a charming, grinning Cajun who didn't once mention how he gave all the credit to God. He looked like he got to open his presents early.

Sonya and I topped off this most joyous of holidays with a viewing of Life of Brian, a suitably reverent movie.

And last night we sat around, ate Chinese and drank wine and watched my Buffy box set Sonya got me for Christmas. We are having us a Merry Christmas up in here.

And I hope you are, too.

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